Red Letter
by Ariyah
Summary: All Corin sees is a broken promise and uncertainty in his brother's eyes, until he realizes the significance of it all in the context of a letter and a tense moment in the stables. By Ariel of Narnia.


**Disclaimer:** Only the OC, by definition, is mine. And thank you to reader Quihi for reminding me that I should probably say that the mentioned tradition is also my own, so far as I know.

 **Author's Note:** Many huge thanks to ElvishKiwi's Venerated Ancestor, first, for concritting the story fragment that was "Silent Treatment" and, second, for being willing to help me better the expansion you see before you now!

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Cor wouldn't look up from his desk. "Nothing's wrong," he muttered.

"You were _late_ to breakfast, hardly said a word – which is unusual even for you – and looking, I don't know, distracted."

"Because I am. You're distracting me from my letter."

Corin scoffed and tapped his fingertips on his hunting horn. "You said yesterday that you'd come. Bowen is going to be disappointed!" Not as much as Corin was, but he wasn't about to admit it.

Cor signed his letter and blew on the ink to dry it. "That was before I realized last night that I need to do _this_ instead." He devoted his attention to folding the single sheet of paper.

"It couldn't wait another day?"

"I've already said I'm sorry. Corin, this is really important." He finally met Corin's eyes. "Please give my apologies to Bowen too."

To his surprise, Corin couldn't find the firmness of Cor's voice in his eyes. The seriousness was there, to be sure, but there was something else too. Like the look he used to give years ago whenever he was instructed to do something completely new. Corin deflated. They might have missed a childhood together, but Corin had had ten years to learn how to read his brother.

"I promise I'll come next time we plan a private hunt."

"You'd better." Then Corin smirked. "But I guess with you not coming, Bowen and I could _really_ have some –"

Cor made to swat him playfully on the head, but Corin dodged it. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Oh, nothing too serious, don't worry. Good luck with… whatever-you're-doing."

That strange look returned to Cor's eyes and Corin noticed that the letter trembled a little in his red-flecked hands. "Thanks," he answered with a shaky smile.

"I'll leave you to it, then." Corin opened the door and fairly ran to the stables where Bowen was sure to be waiting.

.-0-.

Bowen dismounted. "Excellent shot, Corin! And a fine one she is."

Corin swung off his horse as well. "You know, I don't think I craved venison until just now."

"I've been craving ever since we started talking about hunting together. Too bad Cor was too busy."

"I know. But I told him that since he wasn't here, the two of us could get into all the mischief we wanted."

Bowen's eyes twinkled. "Say, that does sound mighty tempting!"

The stable hand was a couple of years older than the princes but seemed to share Corin's penchant for mischief, though Corin had never known him to do anything particularly bad. What Corin liked best about him, however, was how easy he was to talk to and how easily he could talk to them – even referring to them by name and not title, when no one else was around.

He was also an exceptional archer and an expert in cutting open a carcass.

"There. Nice piece of leather out of that. Have you got the sack?"

Corin opened the sack's mouth, laid it by the doe, and set about helping Bowen relieve the creature of its meat. They had made significant progress before Corin stopped to regard his bloody hands.

"Then my uncle sizes up the first hunter – Corin? Hallo, have I lost you? I know it's a complicated story."

Corin blinked. "Sorry, I was just thinking."

Bowen snorted good-naturedly. "Musta been: you haven't removed the heart."

Corin held out his hands. "His hands were red."

"Who?"

"My brother. He wrote a letter this morning."

"In red?"

Corin nodded.

Bowen's mouth split into a grin.

"What?"

"There's only one reason he'd do that. _Think_ , Corin! It's tradition, just like presents at Christmas and brides wearing white!"

.-0-.

Corin set one foot into the stables and stopped dead in his tracks. The only sounds were that of sloshing water and a brush. Even the horses seemed to respect this clearly long-stale quiet that hovered between Cor and Aravis, who, apparently, had recently returned from a ride with nothing to say to each other, despite all the talking – and more – that always preceded this audible muteness. Corin was glad Bowen was dropping off the venison at the kitchens: Corin himself often retreated from such a thick-as-stew tension. He nearly did now, but the scene intrigued him enough to stay.

Aravis' lips were sealed tight. Her nose, usually held quite high in these situations, was positioned where normal people would place theirs. She brushed down her glossy, red-brown mare, though judging from her glazed eyes and monotonous – if vigorous – motions, Corin could only surmise that one portion of the mare's lovely coat was glossier than ever.

In the stall directly across, Cor had planted his feet firmly before his piebald stud and watched with excessive interest as the horse drank from the pail he held. Corin couldn't quite see his face, but he was sure that he recognized the threat of a sulky pout. Even with all that, though, his head seemed to twitch a little at a time and it became clear that, despite the impossible angle, Cor's eyes were not on his horse after all.

Corin smirked. Bowen was right: there was no doubt as to why Cor's letter was in red ink. Considering the silence, the letter hadn't produced the expected results; however, a decade of watching their interactions had taught Corin a few things, so even if they had nothing to say, he did. He cleared his throat. "Oh, for pity's sake, Aravis, just say yes!"

Cor's face was white with horror even as his ears burned bright red. Aravis's eyes flashed and her hand fisted around the brush. Most impressive of all was that in perfect unison, they erupted in a single word: " _Corin!_ "

Corin fled the stable laughing, wholly unconcerned about the consequences that he knew wouldn't involve him.

.-0-.

Never in his life had Corin enjoyed writing – he blamed Master Heggin for that: writing seemed to be the tutor's favourite form of punishment. But today was a new day. Whatever had happened when he fled the stable, Cor and Aravis had no need to say anything about the subject afterward. Corin was sure Father would have been pleased to perform the ceremonies himself right then and there at supper, but he didn't and matters were to progress in their due course.

Beginning with the red letter Corin was honoured to write to all of Archenland to announce the upcoming matrimony.

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